Non Compos Mentis
by OcelotKitten
Summary: An accident in Potions class has interesting effects on Harry and Professor Snape. WIP
1. Chapter 1

Summary: An accident in Potions class has some interesting effects on both Harry and Professor Snape.  
  
Rating: PG, may change later  
  
Author's Notes: Now that I've been accused of plagiarism, and had this piece removed once, I am making know my intentions known as to this story. The inspiration for this piece came from MetroVampire's "The Fire and the Rose". I have no intention of any form of plagiarism. If anything, this fic is my poor attempt at tribute. Much thanks Abby and Anne for writing a truly marvelous piece.  
  
Ten points to whoever can translate the title for me. AN: I know I held this little "contest" before, but the answers were deleted when the story was removed, so I'm giving everyone another shot.  
  
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Non Compos Mentis  
  
By OcelotKitten __________  
  
  
  
On the whole, Potions class was proceeding as usual, which meant that it seemed like the final circle of Hell, and the students were desperate for the bell to ring and release them from their torment. Also as usual, Professor Severus Snape was being as unpleasant as it was possible to be, handing out detentions and house point deductions for the slightest mistake. Harry Potter rolled his eyes as yet another Gryffindor student fell victim to Snape's ever-watchful eye.  
  
"I swear," Ron Weasley muttered next to him, "If nothing else, I'll be glad to graduate to get away from Snape." Harry whole-heartedly agreed. They were just past halfway in their seventh and last year at Hogwarts. Snape's scornful voice interrupted as yet another student made an apparently unforgivable blunder, "Did you even bother to read the directions? Obviously not. If you had, you would know that the acaphia is added after shredded wormwort, not before. Five points from Gryffindor for your inattention."  
  
Ron hissed his displeasure, "If he took half as many points from his own damn house as he does from us, then we might have a chance of winning the cup this year. But no! He's got to be a stupid, greasy bastard, and . . ." Harry saw Snape a second before Ron felt his presence. The Potions master had a rather disturbing tendency to appear just when he was least wanted. As Ron turned to face him, Snape said silkily, "Mr. Weasley, that will be ten points. Perhaps you never considered that if your house could ever, as unlikely as it may be, do better than mediocrely in this class, I might not take so many points?" Harry stifled a snort and surreptitiously rolled his eyes as Hermione glared at him. The Gryffindors generally did exceptionally well in Potions, with the exception of Neville Longbottom. Snape was so incredibly biased towards his own house, that he probably wouldn't take points from the Slytherins if they burnt down the school.  
  
Snape, unfortunately, noticed and snapped, "Mr. Potter, that will be another five points from Gryffindor. Now, get back to work, all of you!" The rest of the class passed without remarkable incident, and a palpable sense of relief began to grow as the end of the class drew nearer. The potions were nearing completion, and needed only to be brought to a high boil before the addition of the final ingredient. As Harry watched Neville, he reflected that it was remarkable that, for once, Longbottom had managed to get through class without causing a single accident.  
  
He should have known better.  
  
When it came time to add the final ingredient, Neville turned to his lab partner as he held the shredded dragonsbane over the bubbling cauldron. Unfortunately, this moved his hand from over the cauldron to over the fire beneath it, and Neville dropped the dragonsbane into the flames.  
  
As the dragonsbane touched the fire, there was a series of tiny explosions as the bits were consumed. The students all dodged behind available cover at the noise, but Snape stalked over to Neville, obviously preparing to deduct an enough points to ensure that the Gryffindors wouldn't have a snowball's chance in Hell of winning the Cup. One particularly loud explosion sounded, and the combination of this, and Snape's menacing advance was enough to send Neville skittering backwards in fear . . . straight into a shelf of meticulously organized ingredients.  
  
With a protesting creak, the case wobbled, and tipped ponderously forward. Neville managed to scramble out of the way before it crushed him as the class watched in fascinated horror. As vials and bottles began to fall off the shelf, some landed in Neville's still simmering cauldron. The viscous mass began to sputter alarmingly, and it was clear that something was building. Snape whipped his wand out, preparing to avert whatever was about to manifest itself, but he wasn't quite fast enough.  
  
With a muffled whump, the cauldron exploded, shards flying in all directions. Fortunately, the charms placed on the room kept the shrapnel from going very far. With a cry of alarm, Snape threw his arms up to protect himself as the contents of the cauldron splattered across him. As he stumbled back, he fell across the table behind him, and tumbled off the other side, right onto Harry.  
  
Harry's breath whooshed out of him as the Potions Master's full weight landed on his back. He felt a wet splatter, and a burning like cold fire began to spread up his arm. Glancing at it, he saw that the contents of the cauldron had splashed off of Snape. As soon as the grayish liquid was in contact with both of them, it soaked through their robes.  
  
He heard the other students shouting, some in shock, others for Madam Pomfrey to be called, and others asking if he was ok. Strong hands pulled Snape off of him, and Harry rolled onto his back, grimacing as his ribs bitterly complained. Ron helped him to sit up, and his ribs complained more vehemently. Suddenly, the burning was spreading up his arm and into his chest, making it difficult to breathe.  
  
Gasping for air, Harry looked over at Snape's pale face. The man was obviously out-cold. As Harry's vision began to go gray around the edges, he croaked out, "Ron! Can't breathe! Help . . ." Ron's and Hermione's frightened faces swam into his narrowing field of vision, and as if from a great distance, he heard an unrecognizable but worried sounding voice say, "Hold on, Harry. Help is coming." The last thought to flit across his mind before he passed out was to wonder why in the bloody hell someone was calling him Harry.  
  
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AN: I hope everyone's intrigued by the first chapter. 


	2. Chapter 2

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Non Compos Mentis  
  
By OcelotKitten  
  
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His first impression was one of utter quiet. Briefly wondering if this was what it was like to be dead, Harry quickly discarded that notion as he realized that he still needed to breathe. And that he still hurt. Harry gingerly took stock of himself before daring to open his eyes.  
  
His ribs didn't hurt so much anymore, but the rest of him seemed to have cheerfully taken up the slack, and taken over the job of aching. In addition to the aching, his entire body felt strange, but Harry couldn't quite put his finger on what was wrong.  
  
Cracking one eye blearily open, Harry saw that he was in the Infirmary. Pushing himself carefully up into a sitting position, Harry noticed that his body seemed heavier. He attributed it to residual effects from the potion or having passed out.  
  
He jumped, startled, as a voice beside his bed said, "Ah, good to see you awake, Severus." The voice belonged to Dumbledore, Headmaster of the school, and as Harry turned to look at him, he saw with surprise that Dumbledore was looking straight at him.  
  
Startled, Harry said, "Professor . . ." He trailed off in surprise. Something was wrong with his voice. It came out as a rich, dark baritone, rather than his usual tenor. In fact, he sounded exactly like . . . Professor Snape. It had to be a result of the errant potion, Harry told himself, with a growing sense of disquiet. Whatever fell into the potion had to have given it voice-changing effects. Which still didn't explain why he sounded like Snape. He looked around, praying that he would find Snape in one of the beds. Instead, in the next bed over, he found himself looking at . . .  
  
Himself.  
  
With a yelp of disbelief, Harry rubbed his eyes and looked again. Almost mockingly, the scene stayed as it was. Trembling now, Harry tore his gaze away from the unconscious figure in the other bed - he refused to think of it as himself - and looked at his hands.  
  
They were large, long-fingered and elegant and most certainly not the hands of a seventeen year-old boy. Shaking now, Harry brought his hands to his face. Lank, shoulder-length hair, narrow features, and an unmistakable hooked nose . . .  
  
Oh, shit.  
  
Almost frantically, he turned to Dumbledore, "Who am I? Who do you see?" Harry winced as his voice remained that same deep baritone. The old man was understandably puzzled by the strange question. He said, "Severus, what on earth are you talking about?"  
  
That was all the confirmation Harry needed, and he buried his head in his hands with a groan. "I'm not Snape, Professor Dumbledore," he said quietly, but the old headmaster had ears like a hawk. He said sharply, "What do you mean?"  
  
Harry looked up at the headmaster miserably, "I mean I'm not Snape. I'm Harry."  
  
"Severus, are you sure that you're all right? You didn't get a bump on the head?"  
  
"Yes, I'm bloody sure!" Harry snapped, without thinking, "I'm not some half-wit amnesiac. I am Harry, and I can only assume that Snape is currently residing in my body." As soon as the words were out, Harry clapped his hand over his mouth as if to hold them in, but it was too late, he couldn't call them back.  
  
He squeezed his eyes shut in mortification. Speaking to any teacher, let alone the headmaster of the school, in such a way was grounds for major points deduction. Harry wondered briefly if some of Snape's personality remained in with his body. What he'd just said was an entirely Snape-like thing to say.  
  
Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively, "Don't worry about it, Harry. How could this have happened?"  
  
"It had to have been that potion . . ." Harry was interrupted by a groan from the other bed. 


	3. Chapter 3

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Non Compos Mentis  
  
By OcelotKitten  
  
__________  
  
Snape's first thought on the return trip to consciousness was that he was going to get Neville Longbottom expelled if it was the last thing he ever did. Groggily, he took stock of himself. His ribs seemed to hurt much more than he would have expected, but not much else did. But he felt very strange, almost out of place in his own body. He shook off the sensation, and opened his eyes.  
  
Pushing himself up into a sitting position with a groan, he noticed blearily that he was in the Hogwarts Infirmary. Looking to his right, he saw Dumbledore, and . . .  
  
Oh shit.  
  
Frantically, he felt his own face. Smooth, boyish skin, perpetually rumpled hair, and that damned scar. Snape buried his face in his hands with a groan. "Severus, is that you?" he heard Dumbledore cautiously say. Snape automatically snapped, "Yes, of course it's me, who else would it be?" Then the incongruity of the statement struck him, and he snorted mirthlessly.  
  
He looked past Dumbledore at . . . himself. "Potter?"  
  
"Yes, Professor." It was so very strange hearing his own voice come back at him. "Severus, how could this happen?" Dumbledore asked. Snape swung his legs off the edge of the bed, and found that they no longer reached the floor in the high hospital beds. With a curse, he swung his legs back up. "It had to have been Longbottom's potion. Something reacted with it and gave it unexpected results."  
  
"Do you have any idea what?" Dumbledore said. Snape grimaced. "No idea. Although, it shouldn't be too difficult to figure out," he said dryly, "Even though there were about a thousand ingredients on those shelves, they were all carefully organized and documented."  
  
"Well, there's nothing else for it but to get cracking."  
  
"Albus," Snape said, incredulous, "I refuse to believe that even you could be so blasé about this."  
  
"Severus, there is no point in getting hysterical about it," Dumbledore said gently, "This is undeniably a very serious situation and I assure you that I am being anything but blasé."  
  
"Excuse me," Harry interrupted, "What are we going to do if we can't figure out a way to fix whatever went wrong? I don't want to be Snape for the rest of my life."  
  
"I assure you, Potter," Snape said coldly, "that I have no desire to remain as you, either." Interrupting smoothly, Dumbledore said, "Gentlemen, please. Calm down. Now, Severus, how long do you think it will take to figure out what caused this?"  
  
"There is no way of knowing, Albus. It could take a few days, it could take weeks . . . and it may be never. There is simply no way of knowing."  
  
"Well, once Pomfrey gives the both of you a clean bill of health, you should start getting acquainted with each others lives." Snape and Harry both looked at Dumbledore with identical blank looks. The Headmaster said with a trace of irritation, "I have no intention of losing either of you for the amount of time it would take to work out a cure. The two of you are simply too valuable, both to the school and . . . otherwise. You will have to assume each other's positions for however long it takes. Unless of course, Severus, you'd rather teach your class as Mr. Potter? Or would you, Harry like to live in Gryffindor tower as Severus?"  
  
They both grimaced. The ensuing mental images were proof enough of the headmaster's rightness. "You are right, of course, Albus," Snape said. Harry chuckled, "Although, the look on Ron's and Hermione's faces if they see Snape being nice to them would be worth it." Dumbledore gave him a sharp look, and he said sternly, "I was entirely jesting when I suggested you going to Gryffindor tower, Harry. The less people know about this, the better. What if word got to Voldemort from one of the students that either of you were incapacitated in any way?"  
  
The room lapsed into sober silence. Snape's status as a renounced Death Eater, and Harry's as The Boy Who Lived made them both targets in the war against Voldemort. Any one of the students who had parents who were Death Eaters and themselves aspired to join the ranks were entirely capable of passing sensitive information along.  
  
Dumbledore stood and stretched. "I'll leave you two to get . . . acquainted," he said with a chuckle that earned a glare from Snape, "I will return this evening to see how you are doing." And with that he was gone. Harry turned to Snape with a grin, "So, do you want to go first or should I?" 


End file.
